


The Language of Flowers

by cuteloops



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, M/M, SnowBaz, florist shop au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5427545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuteloops/pseuds/cuteloops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon is Ebb Petty's apprentice. As a budding florist, he's often in charge of deliveries. One of them brings him to the Pitch mansion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peony

“Irreconcilable differences?” Simon shouts at the closed door of Agatha's flat. “You just read that in a magazine a week ago in the checkout line at Tesco’s!”

She opens the door, just slightly. “Simon, I’m pretty sure Russell Brand knows what he’s talking about.”

He drops the small box of his belongings, grabbing the edge of the door before she could slam it in his face again. “Agatha, come on. We can work through this.”  
“My flight leaves in four hours, I don’t have time to talk.”

“Where did this even come from?” he asks. “Why are you - why California?”

“Irreconcilable differences,” she says, matter-of-factly. Agatha almost takes Simon’s fingers off when shutting the door one last time.

When he shows up outside of Penelope’s flat forty-five minutes later, he’s soaking wet from the rain and the cardboard box is falling apart in his hands.

“Simon?” she asks. “What the hell are you doing?”

He shakes his curls like a wet dog before looking up at her with rounded doe eyes. “I need somewhere to stay. Agatha kicked me out.”

“Kicked you out?” she raises her eyebrows as Simon follows her into the flat. It’s not a big place, but it’s orderly - mostly. (Penny’s kitchen table is a disaster. She has at least four notebooks and three textbooks thrown open and scattered.) (Simon must have interrupted an intensive study session.)

Simon drops the cardboard box on the floor and removes his jacket. “She says she’s moving to California for an indeterminate amount of time and she’s breaking up with me because we have ‘irreconcilable differences’.”

“I told you that girl was trouble,” Penelope says, smirking. “What kind of name is Wellbelove anyways? It’s probably a pseudonym.”

He nods glumly, flopping down onto her couch.

“How long do you need to stay?” she asks him.

“A while,” he tells her sheepishly, grimacing slightly. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to find somewhere else to stay.”

“You have until Christmas. Micah is going to be here to visit and I simply can’t have you slouching around here when he is.”  When Simon heaves another deep sigh, Penny rolls her eyes and marches to the kitchen. She procures a bottle of wine and two deep glasses. “Drink,” she tells him.

Simon doesn’t have it in him to protest.

Two bottles later, Simon and Penny are tangled together on the couch

“You have such pretty hair, Simon,” Penny murmurs. Her assertion is followed by a hiccup and a small laugh.

“We probably shouldn’t have had so much to drink,” Simon slurs.

“Are you over Agatha yet?” she asks.

“I don’t think I ever Wellbeloved her,” he quips, giggling.

“Good. You can do better,” she says.

“Maybe I should try, like. Playing the field. The other field. Boys can be pretty too.”

“Are you telling me that you’re gay, Simon?”

“If I was, I wouldn’t even know, because I’ve never tried, so it can’t hurt!” he says, sitting up suddenly. “I should get a boyfriend. What are they like?”

Penelope rolls her eyes. “You’ve had too much to drink. I’ve had too much to drink.” She tosses him a pillow and a blanket. “Good night, Simon. Sweet dreams.”

Simon’s headache in the morning is a dull throb, and he wishes that he would have thought, even in his drunken stupor, to drink a glass of water the night before. Penny has already left the flat. (He can tell because the kitchen table has been cleared of all of its study materials.) He hopes he didn’t get in the way of her academics with his grumbling and bemoaning of Agatha. He did grumble and bemoan, right? He doesn’t remember.

He stumbles off of the couch, finding his way to Penny’s bathroom. He has stayed here often enough - usually after arguments with Agatha - to know where just about everything in the flat is. He picks his sweater from the night before off of the floor and digs through his still-damp cardboard box to find his toothbrush. As he leaves the flat, he says a silent prayer that Ebb will be easy on him today.

Petty’s Petals is a tiny flower shop sandwiched between an antique store and a cafe that has, in Simon’s humble opinion, the world’s best sour cherry scones. He debates stopping by before the shop opens, but he remembers that Ebb has said there’s a large order coming in and he decides against it.

“Morning, Simon,” she calls from the back room when he wanders in.

“Mornin’, Ebb.”

She enters the storefront, setting down a large bouquet of pink roses. “You look terrible,” she says. “Out drinking last night without me?”

“Something like that,” he says. “Agatha broke up with me.”

“Sorry to hear that. I’ve got a few deliveries this morning, should keep you busy. Maybe that’ll help.”

“Thanks,” he says. They’re silent for a moment, as they usually are. Ebb and Simon don’t talk much, but the companionship is nice when they do. “You know,” he adds, “I thought it would bother me more. Agatha, I mean.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean… we were dating for a while.”  
“Did you ever bring her flowers?”

“What?”

“Did you ever bring Agatha flowers?” she asks again.

“I guess I never thought about it.”

Ebb nods thoughtfully. “First delivery is for a wedding. I need you to be at Pemberley Church at noon, Simon.”

“I can do that,” he says, and a few hours later he’s in the Petty’s Petals van. At Pemberley Church, he helps the disgruntled wedding planner unload and arrange the flowers. Two deliveries later, his day is over and he returns to Ebb.

“Thanks for your help, Simon. I appreciate it.” She offers a small smile before pressing a few bills into his hands. Simon heaves an internal sigh of relief; he can buy dinner tonight for himself and Penny.

“Thanks, Ebb. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ebb smiles, but her eyes are trained on the arrangement of daisies in front of her. (Simon can’t tell if she’s smiling at him or the flowers.)


	2. Orchid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are perks to being a flower delivery boy.

Simon has been sleeping on Penelope’s couch for a week and the backache is starting to get to him, but she always has coffee on hand, which is nice. It’s a bitterly brisk late October day, so Simon throws a sweatshirt on over his thick wool jumper and makes his way to the shop, looking longingly at the cafe next door before stepping inside. He’s greeted with the crisp smell of greenery.

“Ebb?” he calls.

“Back here,” comes her muffled reply. Ebb is elbow-deep in a bouquet of orchids. “Morning, Simon.”

“Hi.”

“I’ve only got one delivery for you today, but it’s a bit of a doozy.”

He nods. “Got it.” After she’s done fiddling with the flowers, she hands him the address, scrawled on a small card.

“Would you like to learn about these orchids today? I’ve got five more bouquets like this to be done before you can deliver them.”

He nods, and the two of them get to work.

Two hours, five bouquets, and a papercut (don’t ask) later, Simon is sitting in the delivery van, impatiently tapping on the steering wheel. Finally, the large iron gate guarding the Grimm-Pitch estate swings open. He pulls up the long drive, stopping near the large white tent that’s been set up for the event. A wedding, maybe? When he exits the van with the first bouquet, he is stopped by a tall, willowy figure in a deep charcoal peacoat.

“You must be Tyrann-” he begins, looking at the name on the card.

“Oh, god.” The boy puts up a hand, stopping him. “Please, just call me Baz. Baz Pitch.” He offers Simon his hand.

Simon shuffles the bouquet, reaching out to return the gesture. The taller boy’s hands are clad in soft, buttery leather gloves.

“Are there more of these?” Baz asks, gesturing to the bouquet.

“Uh, yeah.” Simon coughs, nervous. “Sorry.”

Baz offers a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his steely grey eyes. “Do you need any help?”

“Ah, no, I can get it, thanks.” 

“Alright.” Baz puts his hands in his pocket, watching as Simon unloads the rest of the bouquets that he and Ebb arranged. He directs him to the tent, where the orchids will act as centerpieces for the tables.

“So, what is this? Is someone getting married?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. It’s my stepsister’s tenth birthday.

“I see. Hey, do you mind if I take a picture? I want to show Ebb - my boss - how the orchids turned out?”

“Be my guest,” Baz says, and Simon fumbles with his cold hands and his flip phone before he’s satisfied with his photography. Maybe he’ll show Ebb tonight over dinner. Sometimes he spends his evenings with her; her flat might be cluttered, but it’s cosy, and he’s sure that Penny would appreciate some alone time.

“Well. Thank you for your business,” he says awkwardly. He sticks his hand out to Baz, eager to shake the boy’s hand again.

“And thank you. I’m sure Mordelia will appreciate the flowers.”

“Simon,” Ebb says, brow furrowed, when he walks in from the chill outside, “Did you deliver all six of the orchid bouquets?”

“Yeah, I did. Why?” He sets the lunch he bought for the two to share on the counter between them.

She bites her lip, still looking perplexed. “I just got another call from that Pitch gentleman. He says that the orchids aren’t working. They want six bouquets of lilies.”

“Oh, Ebb. I’m sorry.”

“No, no. They don’t want a refund or anything. I offered. They just… want lilies.”

Simon lets his lunch get cold helping Ebb arrange the flowers so that he can run them back out to the Grimm-Pitch estate.

Baz is waiting in the yard to greet him. “I’m terribly sorry. My stepmother just checked the radar and there’s a storm set to hit us this evening. We’re moving Mordelia’s party inside, to the ballroom. Daphne decided that the orchids don’t match.”

“Ballroom?”

He nods. “Please, let me help.”

Simon, Baz, and a member of the house staff (a butler, perhaps?) carry the new bouquets inside.

“We can leave them here,” Baz says once they’ve reached the entry hall. “I’d hate for you to track mud upstairs.”

“Oh,” Simon says, blushing.

“Besides, you’ve done enough for us today.” He runs a hand nervously through his hair. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Snow. Simon Snow.”

“Snow. I like it. Doesn’t seem to be very compatible with flowers, though.”

Simon laughs. “I guess I never thought of it that way. Well, uh, thanks. Again. Pleasure doing business with you. Again.”

He turns to leave, but Baz grabs his wrist.

“Do you think - maybe - I could have your number?”

 

“Penny!” he shouts, throwing open the door of her flat.

“Jesus, Simon!” she says, nearly falling off the chair she’s studying from. “What’s gotten into you?”

He throws himself onto the couch. “I met a boy today.”

“I meet boys every day,” she says. “It’s a part of life.”  

“No, Penny. I met a boy today.”

“Simon!” she laughs. “Are you…?”

“I’m at least half,” he says matter-of-factly.

“As long as you’re happy,” Penny says with a short chuckle, rolling her eyes. She turns back to her anatomy textbook.

“How did you know?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, with Micah. How did you know?”

“I didn’t. I had to take a chance. We started as friends when he came here as an exchange student in secondary school, as you know, but we had to learn to trust each other. I don’t believe in love at first sight. Love takes effort.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says. She stops, smiling for a brief moment. “I think I’m going to propose over Christmas. I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”

When Simon falls asleep that night, he dreams of orchids and lilies and wedding bands. He doesn’t remember it when he wakes up in the morning, ready for another day on the job, but he also dreams of Baz Pitch, stormy eyes, and leather gloves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Makaena (clovertone.tumblr.com) for being my beta reader! I really appreciate it.


	3. Tiger Lily

Simon finally cracks. Before work one morning, he veers into the cafe next door, emerging with a whole bag of sour cherry scones. (They’ll be gone before Petty’s Petals closes.) This morning, he begins by dusting some of the shelves, tables, and vases on display. There aren’t many orders to be done today.

After a few hours, there’s a jingle at the door.

“Welcome to Petty’s Petals,” Simon says before turning around. “How can I he- Oh! Hi.”

Baz wears a long black coat and his thick leather gloves. In spite of his sunglasses - in the middle of autumn on an overcast day? - Simon recognizes his hair and general demeanor.

“Baz, right?” Simon asks. He puts this cleaning supplies under the counter.

“That’s right, Snow,” Baz says with a smirk.

“What are you looking for?”

The dark-haired boy shrugs. “Nothing in particular. Just looking.”

“How are you doing today? How was the party?”

Baz smiles. “Mordelia loved the lilies. They looked lovely with the ballroom curtains. Miss Petty is a talented florist. I trust she’s teaching you her craft?”

Simon nods. “She sometimes lets me do bouquets for husbands that forget their anniversary.”

“That’s nice.” Baz casts a long glance at the tiger lilies sitting in the corner.

“What about you? What do you do?” Simon asks.

“I’m studying business.”

“That’s cool! What do you want to do?”

“I’ll probably run the family business when my father retires.”

“That’s interesting. What does your family do?”

Baz shrugs, still looking at the tiger lilies. “Real estate.”

Simon nods. “That’s nice. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?”

“I’d like a rose, I think.”

Simon laughs. “We have a wide variety. You might need to be more specific.”

Baz flushes slightly, stuttering a bit when he says, “A red rose, then.”

Simon picks one out of a nearby bucket of single flowers. It hasn’t fully bloomed yet. (Roses like that are the best. They give you something to look forward to.) “It’s on me,” he says.

“Oh no, please. I insist,” Baz protests, and he presses a bill into Simon’s hands. “Have a nice afternoon, Snow.”

Later, Simon realizes that the money Baz has given him is more than enough to cover the cost of a single rose. Ebb is pleased, and she lets him use some of it to buy another sour cherry scone before the cafe closes.

“How’s the house hunt going?” Penny asks over dinner.

“I’m… working on it,” he says, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the spaghetti he’s eating.

“So you haven’t started,” she translates, rolling her eyes. “I love you, Simon, I really do. But I’m sticking with my Christmas deadline,” she says.

He nods. “I know. I will work on it, I promise. Thank you, again, for letting me stay here while I get everything… sorted.”

“You’re welcome. How was work?”

“Fine. Remember that boy? He came in today. How was class?”

“Wait, what? Your mystery boy visited you at work?”

“He came to buy a rose. And he’s not a mystery boy. He has a name. Baz, Baz Pitch,” Simon tells her.

“He must be totally into you,” she says incredulously. She’s put her fork down, resting both of her elbows on the table and staring intently.

“Oh, come on. It’s not, like, a serious thing. He bought a flower, that’s it!”

“And he got your number.”

Simon hesitated for a moment. “Yeah, I guess, but the flower wasn’t even for me.”

“My small baby Simon, growing up,” she taunts. “Are you going to ask him out?”

“I don’t know,” Simon splutters. “I - maybe? I’ve only seen the guy twice, Penny. And I’ve never, you know, been with a boy before.”

She grins impishly at him. “I’ll let it slide for now. You know you’re going to have to let me meet him at some point, right?”

Simon laughs. “Yeah, right. Every boy has to meet the parents someday.”

Of course, Simon doesn’t actually have a real, honest-to-God set of parents. He was tossed around the foster care system for years. Unofficially, he’s another member of the Bunce family, often spending his Christmases with Penelope, her parents, and siblings.

Simon and Penny met in secondary school, taking to each other right away. Their personalities were complementary and they rarely argued. When they did, one of them always swallowed their pride because their friendship was worth more than any petty feud. Simon has, honestly, never seen Penny as anything more than a sisterly friend. What kind of boyfriend ends up in his girlfriend’s family’s ugly sweater holiday picture? No, they are definitely more like family than anything else.  And, like any good sister, she insists on regular Star Wars marathons.

“I’ve got A New Hope queued up on the DVR, Simon. Do you have the popcorn ready?”

“I can’t find any,” he tells her from the kitchen.

“Good God, Simon, how are we supposed to have a proper Star Wars marathon without popcorn?”

“Beats me,” he says.

“Grab your coat,” she orders. We’re going to Tesco.”

The popcorn aisle isn’t difficult to locate, but Simon is easily sidetracked. By the time they reach their buttery delicacies, he’s already stocked the cart with enough candy to last any normal person weeks. (Penny doesn’t mind. She likes to indulge Simon every once in awhile.)

While the two of them wait in line, Penny flips absently through a magazine. She grabs Simon by the wrist, intrigued by whatever lies in the pages.

“What did you say that boy’s name was?”

“Uh, Baz?”

“Last name.”   
“Pince, I think? No, that’s not right. Pitch.”

She looks at Simon wide-eyed before wordlessly turning the magazine towards him. The headline reads “Fifteen Years Later: The Pitch Family Recovers from the Tragedy of Matriarch Natasha”.

“Is that him?” she asks, pointing to a picture of a slender boy with dark hair and sad eyes.

Simon nods.

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch poses with his father in a recent photograph; Tyrannus, who goes by Baz among friends and family, is studying business in the hopes that he will be the successor to his family’s real estate empire.”

Wordlessly, Simon snatches a bottle of aspirin from the shelf. If Penny’s dinner-plate-size eyes are any indication, things are about to get complicated.

 


	4. Fern

Ebb takes a long look at Simon’s bouquet. “I think it needs more baby’s breath,” she tells him. He sighs, strategically arranging a few more sprigs in the emergency anniversary bouquet he’s been working on. 

“Better?”

She pats him on the shoulder with a wink and a smile. “Better.”

In his pocket, Simon can feel his phone vibrating with another text. He rolls his eyes. (It’s Agatha again.) (She’s back from California already and apparently wants Simon to sate her loneliness.) 

“Irreconcilable means that there’s no chance of recovery,” Penny pointed out one night over dinner. Simon finds himself mentally echoing her words every time his phone beeps, buzzes, or rings.

After Simon has delivered the bouquet to a mousy woman in a nearby office building, he’s done for the day. He yanks his phone from his pocket as he leaves Petty’s Petals. Of the three messages waiting for him, only two are from Agatha. The third is from Baz.

“Hello, Snow. Would you like to get coffee?”

Simon’s fingers linger over the keys for a moment as he tries to compose a response. After much deliberation, he settles for “Sure.” A short exchange later, Simon is on the way to Espresso Yourself, a coffee shop a few streets over that Baz suggested. 

If not for the fact that he’s feeling a bit caffeine deprived, Simon would have said no. He hasn’t seen Baz since he found his picture in the magazine at Tescos. (He most definitely googled Baz while watching _Star Wars_ that night.) (He found out that not only is Baz an heir, but he’s a violinist and an instagram sensation as well.) 

Baz is already situated at one of the coffee shop tables when Simon wanders in. He offers a small wave and a smile. After poring over the menu and picking a drink, Simon sits down across from him, taking a deep breath. 

“Just so you know, I wasn’t aware that you were that Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch when I was flirting with you.” 

Baz almost spits his coffee out. “I’m sorry, what? Who said anything about flirting?”

Simon turns nearly as red as the carnations that Ebb keeps in the shop year-round. “Well, I… I ju-”

“No, I understand what you’re saying,” Baz says. “And I appreciate your attempts to flirt. Free flowers? That’s one I’ve never gotten before.” He gives Simon a wink. 

Simon sighs. “I just wanted you to know that. I’m not, like, out to steal your inheritance or anything.” 

Baz laughs. “Thanks for clearing that up, Snow.” He pauses for a moment. “Are you trying to tell me that you are pursuing me?”

“Well, you’re the one who asked me out for coffee.” 

“Perhaps it was a business meeting,” he teases. “Maybe I need more roses.” 

“You’re funny, Pitch,” Simon says. 

Baz shrugs. “You’re right. I am flirting. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t think I do,” Simon says. He takes a sip of his coffee, burning his tongue. “I may have looked you up on the internet,” he admits, still wincing.

“Oh?” Baz raises an eyebrow. 

“I read a story about your family in a tabloid. Well, Penny read it to me. I just sat and listened. I was a bit shell-shocked. And anyways, I’m not much one for reading.” 

“I see. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” 

“Why should you? I’m just some boy you’re flirting with.” 

“And I’d like to flirt with you quite a bit more, Simon. Are you enjoying your coffee?”

Simon nods, starting to blush under the intensity of the other’s gaze. “You play the violin?”

“Avidly. And you?” Baz reaches for Simon’s hand, examining it intently. “You have pianist fingers.”

Instinctively, Simon jerks his hand away. He’s certain there must be dirt caked underneath his fingernails. (There always is.) “No. I don’t. I don’t have a talent for much of anything,” he admits. 

“That’s most certainly not true. I’ve never heard a bad word about Petty’s Petals, and I know that at least part of that must be you.”

“I don’t know…”

“Mordelia loved the lilies, by the way. Do you have any siblings?”

“No, I don’t.” Simon doesn’t bother to ask; he already knows that, besides Mordelia, Baz has two younger twin sisters and a brother. “You said you’re studying business? Do you enjoy it?”  
“I suppose,” Baz says, his lips suddenly drawn tight. “I don’t know that it would have been my first choice.”

“Would you rather be studying music?”

Baz cocks his head, smiling at Simon. “You’re observant, Snow, aren’t you?”

Simon shrugs, casting a glance out the window. “I suppose. It’s getting dark. I should probably be going. Penny might start to worry.” 

“Who is this Penny, anyways?” 

“My roommate.” 

“Hmm.” Baz takes a long drink from his coffee. Simon is certain it must be something frothy and complicated. And probably expensive.

“What are you having?” He asks. 

“Pumpkin mocha breve,” Baz tells him. “It’s my favorite. And you?”

Simon shrugs. “It’s just black coffee. I’m not one for fancy drinks.”

“There’s a difference, you know. There are so many different types of coffee. Is it French? Viennese? Light roast? Dark roast?” he teases.

After staring into his mug for some time, Simon reaches a conclusion. “It’s coffee.” 

Baz lets out a low chuckle. “You’re funny, you know that?”

“Shit,” Simon says, catching a glimpse of the first dribbling raindrops spattered on the window. “I should go. This,” he says, gesturing at the coffee, “was nice.” 

“May I walk with you?” Baz asks.

Yanking his jacket over his shoulders, Simon shakes his head. “I would like that.”

 

To his credit, Baz keeps his distance like a gentleman as they walk along. Once again, he’s wearing his large sunglasses despite the overcast evening. 

“Isn’t your house the other way?” Simon asks him.

“It’s all the same to me. I enjoy evenings like this anyways. A little bit of extra walking won’t hurt me.”

They continue along wordlessly before he breaks the silence. “I’ve heard you’ve got quite a following on Instagram.” 

“I’m not sure I would call what I have “a following”. Followers, maybe. Nomadic browsers who happen across my page in the vast jungle of the Internet,” he jokes. 

“I’ve never had an Instagram. In fact,” Simon pauses, rummaging through his pockets again. “I still have a flip phone.”

Feigning horror, Baz clutches a hand to his chest. “It’s a monstrosity!” he cries.

“It’s all I need, really. I fear I’d be too clumsy for anything too expensive.”

When Simon reaches Penny’s complex, he determines that this walk must have been the fastest he’s ever made home. He looks at Baz for a long moment. “Well,” he says. “This is my stop.” 

“Have a lovely evening, Snow,” Baz tells him. The smile he wears now is deeper and friendlier than the pinched half-grimace he greeted Simon with the first time they met. He hesitates for a moment before offering Simon his hand for a firm shake. 

“Thanks, Baz. You do the same.”

Only seconds after the door has shut, Simon sticks his disheveled head back out into the drizzly evening. “Baz?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll see you around.”


	5. Ivy

Simon sports a mouthful of sour cherry scone when - mid-bite - he is struck what he thinks is probably the greatest idea he’s ever had. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Baz leans forward, hoping to hear him more clearly.

The blond blushes, swallowing the rest of his treat. “I said, you should come over for dinner.”

Baz straightens, eyes brightening at the thought. “And what makes you say that?”

“Well, you still haven’t met Penelope. And we’ve been… well, I’ve known you for some time now.” By now, Simon and Baz are on the cusp of being considered regulars at Espresso Yourself; while Simon prefers the scones at the cafe next to Petty’s Petals, he’s starting to develop a fondness for this particular little shop and the person he’s sharing it with.

“I’d be honored to join you for dinner,” Baz tells him. He tilts his head back, exposing a gorgeously chiseled expanse of neck as he finishes the last of his coffee. “But for now, I should be going. I don’t think I can procrastinate this economics project for another second.” 

“Alright.” Simon stands, tightening his scarf. “Are you free tomorrow night?” 

Baz whips his phone from his pocket, deftly searching through his apps to find just the right one. “Hm. I have pilates in the morning and a violin lesson in the afternoon, but I should be free in the evening.” 

Simon grins. “I’ll see you then.” 

“It’s a date.”

Baz bids farewell with a sly grin, sauntering off into the evening before Simon can realize the implications of what he just said. He feels a flush creep into his cheeks and he’s almost thankful for the warm defense against the early October air.

 

“You mean to tell me that Basilton - _The_ Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch of the Grimm-Pitch family - is coming to _my_ flat _tomorrow_?” Penny cries. 

“Calm down, Penny. It’s just Baz. I just… thought it was time that you two meet.”

“It’s about time! But shit, Simon, you couldn’t think to give me just a bit of warning?”

“I didn’t think it would be a big deal,” he says, biting his lip. “Is it?”

“This whole flat is a mess and he’s going to think that I - and by extension, _we_ \- are a mess.”

“Baz already knows I’m a mess, Penny.”

“But perhaps I can keep up the illusion about myself for a bit longer,” she says. She sighs deeply, running a hand through her curly red hair. “Ah well. I suppose if worst comes to worst I’ll just shove everything in the bath and call it a day. What are we going to cook?”

“I’ve no idea. You’re the cooking mastermind here. I just bake. On occasion.”

“My god. We’re both useless.”

 

“We’d best get started,” he says, and so they begin preparations for a most honored guest. 

 

Simon’s heart stops as soon as the door to Penny’s flat swings open. His chest constricts uncomfortably, he can’t breathe, and his mouth is half-agape. 

Baz is wearing jeans. 

“May I come in?” Baz asks timidly after an extended pause. Simon steps back to admire the rest of him, clad in a deep olive green sweater and holding a bouquet of flowers. 

“Yeah, shit, sorry,” Simon mumbles. “Welcome to our flat!”

“ _My_ flat!” Penny calls from the kitchen.

“Welcome to Penny’s flat!” Simon amends. He takes a closer look at the flowers. “Those are some lovely irises,” he says. He examines one more closely, taking great care not to ruffle it too much.

“They’re for Penny,” Baz says. 

“Trying to get into her good graces already?”

“It’s my understanding that she’s your best friend. I’d assumed it would behoove me to do so.” 

Simon beams, grabbing Baz’s free hand. “Would you like to meet her?”

In the kitchen, Penny is bent over a steaming pot. She spins around when Simon addresses her, greeting Baz with a warm smile. “Hello there!”

“This is Baz,” Simon says. Baz nods to her politely, presenting her with the irises. 

“These are gorgeous!” she cries. “Thank you!” She looks at them for a long moment, admiring their deep purple hue before handing them off to Simon. “Can you put these in some water for me?” she asks. “The rice is nearly done.” 

Simon obliges, rummaging through the cupboards before finding a nice pickle jar to store the flowers in.

“You have a lovely flat, Penny,” Baz says. “It’s charming.” 

When they finally sit down for dinner, Simon is ravenous. He’s very nearly too hungry to hold a conversation, but he’s more than happy to let Baz and Penny volley back and forth. 

“Simon tells me you’re studying business,” Penny says. 

“That’s right. And you?”

“Biology.” 

“Penny’s going to be the best doctor there is,” Simon says matter-of-factly in between bites of roast beef.

“And you play the violin?” Penny asks. 

“Quite beautifully, I’m told,” he quips. “And I teach lessons.” Simon almost melts imagining Baz tenderly adjusting a budding violinist’s form. 

“I used to play the cello,” she says. “Not quite beautifully, but I could squeak out a note or two.”

“Used to?”

“I did not say that I particularly enjoyed playing the cello, only that I did.”

Baz laughs, Penny smiles warmly, and Simon can’t help feeling like everything in his world is falling into place. (And maybe it is.) (But would that be too easy for Simon Snow?)

After everyone is satisfied with seconds - and Simon with a third helping - a timer begins to beep. 

“Oooh, Simon!” Penny squeals. “It’s time!”

Simon grins, outfitting himself with a floral oven mitt and sweeping a dish from the oven. 

“I made an apple crumble,” he announces. 

Penny divies it up, giving their guest an especially generous portion. 

“This is delicious,” Baz says. 

“Thank you.” Simon beams, still wearing his oven mitt. 

“He’d make a lovely househusband,” Penny says, elbowing her friend in the side when he starts to blush. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have any talents.” Baz smirks, taking another bite with exaggerated zeal.

“I don’t, really. I’m just sort of good at baking. Sometimes. On a good day.” 

“Oooh, Simon, you should make this for our next _Star Wars_ night,” Penny suggests. “I bet it would be great with some vanilla ice cream.”

“You’re right,” he says. “I should.”

“I’ve never actually seen _Star Wars_ ,” Baz says, nonchalant as he takes another bite of crumble.

Two forks clatter to the floor and two heads swivel towards him as two voices cry out in unison: “What?”

“Never seen - oh my God, Simon, it’s time for an emergency session.” 

“Flashback order?” he asks, standing up so quickly he nearly knocks over the table.

“Flashback order,” she says solemnly. She sweeps the dirty dishes and silverware up from the table, piling them all in the sink. “I’ll get the popcorn.”

Simon reaches for Baz’s hand, dragging him into the living room.

“Is it really that devastating that I’ve never seen _Star Wars_?”

“Absolutely. It’s practically ritual here.” He begins rifling through his and Penny’s extensive shared DVD collection. “We start with _A New Hope_ , then _The Empire Strikes Back_. After these two originals, we insert the prequels. Not my favorite films, but Penny thinks they’re essential. She enjoys flashbacks and character development, naturally. And then we finish with _Return of the Jedi_. Some people like to view them chronologically in order of release or in episode order, but I think that spoils it.”

“Most of what you just said was gibberish to me, but I think I’m excited,” Baz admits. 

“We can probably only get through one episode tonight,” Penny says as she emerges from the kitchen with a giant bowl of popcorn in hand. “I have a quiz in the morning and Simon needs his beauty sleep. You’re welcome to take the rest with you, or you can come back for another evening or two,” she offers.

“I’d love an excuse to come back,” he says, settling into Penny’s lumpy sofa. 

Simon sits down beside him, almost cautious. Usually Baz rests on the other side of a coffee shop table or walking him home a safe distance away. Now, he perches on the sofa just inches away. If he wanted to, Simon could shift ever so slightly and they would sit shoulder to shoulder.

When Penny sits, Baz shifts to make room for her, casually putting his arm around Simon’s shoulder. 

After he catches his breath, Simon thanks every god he’s ever heard of that the lights are off and no one can see his face glowing bright red. As the opening music begins, he relaxes, snuggling closer to the dark-haired heir next to him.

_It is a period of civil war…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four was a bit weak, as I'm getting back into the swing of writing, but I hope this one will be a little bit better. Please leave feedback so that I know what I can improve in future chapters!


	6. White Violet

 

“So you’ve graduated from emergency anniversary bouquets to weddings,” Baz says, leaning over Simon’s shoulder to get a better look at the bouquet. “That’s something.” 

Simon nods, snipping a stem and placing the pink freesia into the arrangement so it sits in just the right place. “Ebb still does the stuff for the wedding party,” he says. “This is just a centerpiece, but I think I’ll get to try those next.” 

“You know, I’ve been hearing that there’s another royal wedding in the near future.” 

“Yeah, well, I doubt they’ll conscript Petty’s Petals,” Simon says, rolling his eyes. “They’ll probably get the same person who did the last one. Kate’s bouquet was absolutely gorgeous. I love lily of the valley. And hyacinth. And I totally watched the wedding when it aired on TV. It was like, a Cinderella story or something.”

“It looked stunning in person.” 

“Excuse me?” Simon nearly drops his scissors. 

“The bouquet. It, ah…” Baz seems self-conscious, suddenly realizing that he’s said something out of the ordinary. “It looked stunning in person.” 

Simon is suddenly very aware of the dirt and greenery staining his fingers and the unraveling wrist hem of his sweater. “That’s… wow. Royal weddings.” 

“I think it was all political, honestly.”

“Was it fun?” Simon asks. 

Baz shakes his head. “The ceremony was a bore and everyone at the reception was worried about offending the queen. I didn’t even stay for the whole thing.” 

“But the bouquet was pretty?” 

Baz nods solemnly. “The bouquet was pretty.” 

The door jingles and Ebb enters the shop, her face mostly obscured by the utterly massive fern she’s carrying. She stumbles slightly, and Baz is at her side before Simon can even react, steadying her. 

Ebb looks at Baz with wide eyes, then at Simon, then back to Baz. “I did the flowers for your father’s wedding,” she says. “I remember. Forget-me-nots. An odd choice for a wedding, but sweet.” 

She sets the fern down, then reaches out to shake his hand. “I’m Ebb Petty. I know your aunt Fiona, actually. And you’re Baz.”

He nods. 

“You were quiet then, too,” she says. And then, “Simon, I don’t imagine I need to remind you not to shag in the back room. And use protection.” 

  
  
  


When they leave the shop a couple hours later, Simon swears his cheeks are still burning. Baz even fell prey to a creeping, lingering blush, but he at least managed to regain his composure. 

They’re going out for coffee again, but this time Simon takes Baz into the little coffee shop next to Petty’s Petals. The barista looks puzzled when he asks for his signature pumpkin mocha breve, so Baz settles for black coffee.  He can’t place the music playing, but thinks it may be some kind of ethereal folk mix. The two sit in plush chairs in a secluded corner of the cafe.

“I’m sorry about Ebb,” Simon blurts out as soon as they’ve sat down. 

“What’s there to be sorry about? I think it’s a perfectly reasonable request, you know, not having sex in the back room of her flower shop.” 

Baz raises his eyebrows, then presses the coffee to his lips. (How does he even do that? Simon wonders. It’s still steaming.) (Seriously. What is his secret?) 

“I just…” Simon begins, “I’m sorry. If it made you feel awkward or something. She kinda acts like a mom. A sweet, kind of goofy mom. And I love her but she embarrasses me sometimes. Like a mom.” 

“Understood,” Baz says, nodding. They sit in silence for a few moments, Baz sipping his coffee and Simon blowing on his to cool it down. At last, Simon speaks again, his words spilling out into the space between the two of them. 

“I mean, we’re not even…” Simon trails off, lost for words, and then starts gesticulating wildly. “You know?” 

“Would you like to be?” 

“Come again?”

Baz flushes slightly, then starts mimicking Simon’s own hand movements. “You know?” 

“Dating?” Simon chokes out.

The dark-haired boy bristles. “If it’s such a disgusting concept then -” 

“No!” Simon cries. “No, no, it’s not.” He reaches out and grabs Baz’s free hand with his. “I would like that. A lot, I think. It’s just… you’ve been to royal weddings and fancy parties that I wouldn’t be able to set foot in as the floral delivery boy.”

“I don’t care,” Baz says quickly, tightening his grip on Simon’s hand. 

“You’re posh and perfect and I’m just some loser kid who drives flowers around.”

“You’re not. You also bake a delicious apple crumble and you have an eye for arrangement and…”

“And?” 

“And you’re cute,” Baz says, and the hint of a blush is now full-on, blanketing his cheeks and spilling down his neck. “You’re cute, Snow.” 

“What will your parents think?”

“I don’t care.” 

“You don’t?” 

Baz hesitates. “I do, I guess. I care. I would hope that they would accept what I want. But I care about you more.” 

“Yes,” Simon breathes. “We can be… dating.” 

  
  
  


When Baz walks him home that night, they hold hands. Simon remembers the first handshake, the way that the soft leather of Baz’s gloves felt wrapped around his hand for a fleeting moment. 

He can’t believe he gets to have that.

They finally reach the door to Penny’s flat, and Baz loosens his grip on Simon’s hand. 

Simon hesitates with his hand on the doorknob. “Would you like to come in?” he asks. “I think Penny’s home, if you want to say hello.” 

“I’d like that.” 

They linger outside for a moment, Simon’s hand still wrapped around the doorknob. He debates leaning in, pressing his lips to the other boy’s, pulling him close… 

He settles, at last, on a hug. He wraps his arms around Baz’s waist, resting his head on Baz’s shoulder for a lingering moment that somehow could never possibly last long enough. When they pull apart, Baz places a gentle peck on Simon’s forehead. 

The two nearly scream when Penny throws the door open, eyes wide. “Am I interrupting something?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've updated this in over a year so bear with me. I apologize for any character / plot inconsistencies. Hopefully I can get on a more regular update schedule. I do have a couple things planned for this fic so I would like to finish it. Thanks to everyone who has commented and left kudos! That's pretty much the only reason I returned to update this work. Thank you for reading!


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